Wounded
by storycrewlover
Summary: Oneshot- after coming home to the Cair after battle, Rachel treats Peter's injury, which, he is convinced, is not 'that bad'.


"I'm fine. Really! Just tired, Ed, now please, let me sleep?" Edmund still looked suspicious, but Susan was convinced by the pleading in the High King's voice, so she pulled on her younger brother's sleeve, and he followed, if reluctantly.

Peter sighed in relief, but instantly winced- anything other than rather shallow breaths pulled at the would in his side. He had been slashed in the side by an axe wielded by a viciously fast minotaur. He had managed to jump back, avoiding the brunt of the blow, but even so, he knew the blood would have showed through his shirt and tunic, so he had kept on the thick woollen vest that he had worn while fighting in the colder reaches of the northern mountains. He opened his door, carefully, so as too not irritate his side further, and smiled as he shut it. He glanced over to his bed- Rachel was asleep on the trundle, fingers resting on the hilt of her scimitar; as a general, she had not been required to attend the victory banquet, a freedom which he envied greatly. Still, he could not help smiling tenderly down at her for a moment, thanking Aslan again for a partner so adept with throwing knives- they'd saved Ed's life twice in the battle that had taken place only a day ago, and he regretted that he had been too busy to see her much at all afterwards. Although, if she had spent more time with him, she would have found out about his injury, which really was not too serious, he told himself. He just needed to wash it, and it would be healed within the week. His head swam a bit, but he assured himself that it was just from lack of sleep. He blinked once as he entered the brightly lit bathing chamber, then opened his eyes, dazedly looking about himself. His knees hurt- he was on his knees now . . . how had that happened? Had he fallen?

"Peter?" A sleepy voice called out. He listened, unable to process what the bumps and rustles coming from his bedroom were from until Rachel appeared in front of him. "Peter, what's wrong?" Her voice was laden with concern and confusion. He supposed he did look rather strange, kneeling on the floor of his bathroom, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

"Nothing . . . " His voice sounded strange to him, as if he were intoxicated. Well that was interesting. ""Was just trying to get cleaned- get cleaned up."

"I really think something's wrong. I'm going to get Sue and Ed-"

"No!" He knew, though he couldn't recall why, that his siblings should not see him now.

"Alright, " Rachel said carefully. "Well, can I help you, then?"

"Okay . . . " His voice trailed off. Why did he sound so confused?

The tender pressure from her hands felt lovely as she unbuttoned his vest . . .

"_Peter!" _Why was she being so loud, and where were her hands?

"What?" He asked plaintively.

"Oh . . . never mind, Peter. Goodness, you've lost a lot of blood- you should be fine but- well, I guess we'll just have to do this field surgeon style."

"What? No, no I don't want a surgeon." Rachel was shaking her head. Her braids swung from side to side- but her hair was prettier when it was down . . .

"Why's your hair not down?" He asked.

"Because if it was it would get in my way," she replied. Her voice had changed, become calm and soothing. He smiled as he leaned back against her. She made such a good pillow . . .

"Peter? Peter, I need to get up to get a needle and thread, alright?"

"Mmm-" he moaned in protest, but she left anyway. He heard water running and looked up to see a basin filled to the brim with bubbles. He cried out involuntarily as she pulled his shirt and tunic together over his head. He heard he hiss and he glanced down at his side- it was what she was staring at, after all. His ribs were covered in blood . . . that wasn't good. He cringed at the stinging of the soap as she put her towel to his skin, over and over again.

"Stop, it hurts," he complained, turning into her shoulder. She smiled pityingly down at him.

"I'm almost done with this part- but when I sew it up it's gonna hurt a lot more." He groaned in complaint and fell into her lap. He felt her chuckle. "I've decided that you're better with alcohol than with blood loss." He felt his hair been brushed away from his face. "All right, now you may want to bite this." She put something into his mouth- it tasted like cork . . . his hand was raised and set over her shoulder. "Okay, bite down or squeeze my shoulder when it hurts, got it?" He nodded blearily. He did both as a severe sharp pain lanced his side, leaving him gasping.

"Good job, good job, Peter, just a few more to go." He moaned in protest again, but the sharp pain kept coming and going, feeling as if it would never stop . . . "There, done. 'Sure is a big cut you have there, Pete. Pete?"

He really didn't want to open his eyes, but he had to when she took the cork out between his teeth and smoothed his hair back. He felt his lips curve into a sleepy smile when he met her worried eyes. "You really scare me sometimes, you know?" She shook her head with loving exasperation. He felt his body start to be lifted off the floor- "A little help here? I'm not _that_ strong, you know."

"What about that time you carried me across the ice after I fell in?"

"That was different . . . one, two, three, and _up." _He gritted his teeth and walked, with Rachel still supporting much of his weight, to his bed. "Hey, Rachel?"

"Yeah?" He could feel her chest rise and fall heavily, his head supported by her soft breast.

"How many times have we done this?"

"More than we should have." He felt her chuckle and smiled in spite of himself. "Go to sleep, Peter. Everything is all right."


End file.
